


Cooking Quirk

by notmyyacht



Category: Trouble in the Heights (2011)
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Fluff, Playful teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyyacht/pseuds/notmyyacht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've been teased about your cooking for the longest time. You really don't need Nevada's smart mouth teasing you even more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cooking Quirk

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first off: A) I wrote this a year ago and only now decided to post it on my AO3, and B) It was my first reader fic. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

You’re a good chef. You know it, your family knows it. You also like to experiment in the kitchen -try a new recipe, make up a recipe just to see if it’ll taste any good.

You’ve rarely cooked for Nevada, much less cooked one of your experiments. Those you tend to save for when you’re only cooking for yourself, so at least you won’t have the criticism of others to worry about.

Nevada comes over one night, expecting you to cook for him. You wanted to, you invited him. If this… relationship was going to work out, he’d better accept this quirk of yours. You steeled yourself that evening, dressing nice under an apron, ready to take whatever criticism Nevada would throw your way.

You buzz Nevada up and are greeted with a deep kiss. He hums into your mouth.

“Mmm, something smells good.”

“It’s a surprise,” you giggle. He raises an eyebrow.

“You said that earlier. Don’t I get a taste now?” he keeps his hands firmly on your hips as he leans in to plant kisses on your neck. You bite your lip, not sure how you feel about how much you’ve missed him since early that morning.

“I… I’ve got to go stir the sauce,” you say, gently pushing him off. He complies with a pout.

As the last of the pasta cooks, you set him down at your table and pour him some wine. His eyes never leave you the entire time.

Satisfied with the consistency of the sauce with the spaghetti, you place a good helping on both your plates. You balance a bread stick on the edge of each dish and bring them in to the dining area. You place them both down and untie your apron, placing it on a kitten hook on the wall. You sit across from him and wait.

Nevada inhales. The garlic and cinnamon mix is surprisingly mouth-watering. You watch as he slowly twirls a good helping of spaghetti around on his fork before shoving it into his mouth. He chews twice and pauses. You freeze. Mouth full, he still manages to pull off that sexy smirk you love so much. He continues chewing then swallows.

“This is fucking delicious,” he finally says. You breathe a sigh of relief. His smile widens, noticing your nervousness.

“Old family recipe?” he asks. “A bit of an unusual mix but it’s really fucking good.” He washes it down with a gulp of wine and you finally dig in to your own plate.

“Not really,” you say after swallowing your own bountiful helping, “I sort of just made it up today.” You continue, “I do that a lot. Make up recipes. They’re not always so successful. Though I did cheat a bit with this one. I’ve tried mixing garlic and cinnamon before, but it was more of a tomato sauce than a cream one.”

Nevada waggles his eyebrows.

“So I could have basically come here tonight and been food poisoned then?” he laughs, but you’re not particularly fond of the memory that brings up. You set your silverware down, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He doesn’t miss a thing and laughs more.

“Shit, did that actually happen once? You kill someone with your bizarre cooking?”

“No, I didn’t,” you reply, more bitterly than you intended. Nevada doesn’t take the hint.

“You could probably kill half of New York if you opened a restaurant,” he chuckles, “I can see it now on the 6 o'clock news. ‘Restaurant Owner Accused of Unintentional Mass Murder via Weird as Fuck Recipes. Manager offers no comment other than to say ‘I was curious about these two ingredients.’”

The blush on your face deepens and you practically jump to your feet.

“If you don’t like it, just fucking say so,” you growl, moving to grab his half-full plate. He snatches your wrist in mid-air.

“Cariño, what’s wrong?” You finally look him in the eye for the first time since he went off. You’ve seen that look before, the rare concerned look Nevada wears when you’re upset over something and he’s willing to kill to make you feel better. It’s his own way of being sweet.

Your eyes burn.

“Y'know what? I’ve put a lot of effort into this. I experiment in the kitchen, so fucking what? That doesn’t make me a bad cook. God, you and my folks would have a grand ol’ time cracking jokes about how my cooking could kill an entire army. I don’t need the teasing, I don’t want your opinion about it. Either take it or leave it.”

Nevada grabs your other wrist, forcing you to look at him.

“Mi cariño,” he says softly, rubbing his thumbs over the skin on your wrists, “I did not mean to insult your cooking. I like your quirkiness.” He brings your hands up and kisses both of your palms. “Even if it was awful, at least it’s not boring.”

You smile. How can you stay made when he’s looking at you all sweet like that. You wonder for a brief moment how many people have seen this sweet side and you guess not many. You leaned down and kiss him on the lips. He makes a noise of protest when you pull back.

“Eat, before it gets cold.”


End file.
